I was awakened early by a knock at my front door. I located the shorts that I had tossed off last night, dragged them on the went to the door.
"Who is it?" I asked, truly having no idea who could be banging on my door at 7:30 of a Thursday morning.
"Marianne." Came the sweet voice from the other side. "I am sorry to have wake you?" she asked.
I opened the door to the luscious sight of Mari standing there in a short frilly skirt, espadrilles and a loose man's dress shirt casually knotted below her breasts. Her cleavage made it apparent that no bra was in evidence. Her hair fell loosely around her gorgeous face. Her smile was radiant. I noticed that the day was dawning kind of crummy. The weather would be kind of overcast today it appeared.
Marianne was carrying a large parcel.
"Bonjour Cher. Ça va?" She said, making no move to enter without invitation. I immediately jerked aside and ushered her in. her head swiveled and her smiling eyes never left me as she walked past.
Moving into the room, see made obvious note of the mess of my nest on the couch.
"This was you?" she asked, curious. I nodded moving to take her parcel. "I thought to bring some 'PD'." I had used the acronym 'PD' as a substitute for 'Petit Dejeuner' which she thought was so very American. Who but an American couldn't spare the extra moments it took to say the entire phrase.
She settled into the mess of blankets on the couch and set her stuff on the coffee table. She unloaded a thermos of coffee, a bowl of obviously homemade preserves, some croissants, and a selection of sliced meats and cheeses. I turned and head to the kitchen for cups, cream and sugar.
We had both poured out cups of hot black coffee when she noticed the presence of Mom at the bedroom door.
"Salud Szhudy, Cheri." She said with that lilting French pronunciation again.
Mom emerged wearing one of my dress shirts. She had closed only one button, near her tummy that barely covered her puss, and let her breasts sway and play peek-a-boo as she came over towards us.
"Coffee?" she asked excitedly. "You are such a sweetheart." When she reached us I handed her my cup. Mari and I were both gaping at her innate sexiness in my shirt. She noticed us watching and moved to gather the shirttail in front of her, covering her pussy, which was actually not visible, anyway "What? Am I showing?" she asked.
"I can only wish." I blurted not thinking. Mari gave me a look. I handed my coffee to Mom.
"You two are very exciting." She said with a naughty grin. Mom and I exchanged uncertain looks about possibly exposing the intimacy of our relationship with an outsider.
Mom continued to hold the shirttail in front of her crotch as she sipped coffee from my cup. I watched as Mari slowly reached out and gently, but firmly, removed Mom's hand from the material.
"It is no problem? Yes?" she asked. "It is okay?" Mari looked to me with a sweet smile. "We enjoy to not mind?" Moms hand fell to her side and then moved to her hip, which created the impression that she was posing in my shirt; maybe she was.
I fixed myself another cup and then leaned back into the couch, blowing my coffee cool and sipping it. I watched as Mari and my mother shared a long meaningful look. Mom reached out and gently tucked a stray wisp of Mari's hair behind her ear.
"You are so beautiful." She told my 'girlfriend'.
I wondered briefly, whether Marianne was my girlfriend. We were friends to be sure, and we'd gone out, even made out, but the title of 'girlfriend' had not yet been bestowed. Mom must have been on the same wavelength, because she then asked,
"Do you like being Andy's girlfriend?"
At first Mari's eyes didn't leave my mother's, but her hand came over to settle on my knee.
"Very much." She replied. 'Well.' I thought, 'that's settled.' Mari then turned to look at me with a gorgeous, radiant smile. She leaned over close and carefully kissed both of my cheeks. "Very much." She repeated quietly.
Mari then returned her gaze to Mom.
"Do you?" she asked Mom. Mom seemed completely taken aback by the question.
"Do I what?" she asked.
"Do you like being Awndy's girlfriend?" Mari asked again. "Also?" she added.
"I don't know what you mean." Mom stammered clearly unsure of what was being asked.
"Well, I know you are Awndy's mother, for sure, but I see you ... together. The way you are so sexy together; lovers." There was a long silent pause. "Lovers, yes?"
I looked up at Mom who now wore the deer-in-headlights expression, as her eyes swiveled back and forth from Mari to me. I realized the longer it took her to protest, or even respond, reinforced the impression that we were, in fact, lovers.
"What are you saying?" she asked, panicked. "I don't know what you're saying."
Mom's hand returned to clasp the material in front of her pussy again. I watched as her body language expressed her desire to curl up, close off, cover up any impression that we were intimate. She looked really panicked.
Mari rose to her feet and gently took Mom's shoulders in her hands, preventing her from running away.
"No, no, no, ..." she soothed. "Is okay. Please. No. Is okay. It is beautiful to me, this love." They shared a long look between them. "Please, I cannot say what, ... I do not speak right, this, ..." Mari looked to me, pleading for help. I sat there dazed as well, I didn't know how to help. I think we had been found out.
Mom just continued to stare at Mari with a horrified expression. Mari took her coffee and set it aside, then pulled her into an embrace and just held her there. Mom stood there with her hands just hanging for a while, and then they came up and embraced her back.
I sat, watching them for a while, then realized that Mari's shoulders were shaking. She was crying. Mom looked at me with a confused expression, then took hold of Mari and stood her up looking at her tear-stained face. When asked what was wrong, it took a few minutes for Marianne to explain how unloving her upbringing had been. Her father had been abusive in Lyon where she was born, the youngest of 4 siblings. She had not been wanted and they never let her forget it.
To escape the abuse that their father rained down on them all, her mother had moved them to Nice to a distant relative's house. They were barely welcome there. Marianne had become the embodiment of her mother's disappointment with how her own life had turned out, and at 16 Marianne hit the road. She related how she had lived, moving from place to place, staying on peoples couches and sometimes squatting in abandoned buildings with other runaways. Sometimes stealing and sometimes working for a pittance, all within a few miles of the rest of her family. No one ever came looking, or even asked about her. She had been disposed of.
The local chief of the police had become her savior, who she came to know from the frequency of her visits to jail. When the weather had been too miserable and she could find no other place to stay, a petty theft was all it took to get her a warm overnight in jail. These petty thefts were always the same; stealing one beer from the same small store along the corniche.
The owner knew her and knew her situation. He would call the cops, while she waited, have her arrested and then, the following day, drop all charges. Mari had even worked in his store briefly, when she had turned 18. Flavian, the store owner, had become an unlikely, but lifelong friend. Mari had a very few friends, trusting no one. He had died at 78 the year before I arrived in Nice, leaving her crushed and more alone.
Mom had come to sit down on the couch, Mari between us and we both consoled her as this tale of woe had literally poured out of her in fits of tears. She had never been loved, or treated kindly, until she met Gerard and his mother. Gerard was the Maitre of the restaurant where Mari worked. His mother owned the restaurant and ran it after Gerard's father ran off with some Italian starlet, who had happened up from Cannes during the film festival 10 years before.
And now, Mari had met us, myself and my mother, two people so full of life and love for each other and for her, that she was filled with envy and fear. Envy for the relationship we shared and had all our lives, for the love we expressed openly for each other, for the support we gave each other without condition. But she felt a deep fear that she would never find that for herself, that we wouldn't accept her into our lives, and mostly that she wasn't worthy.
We were all crying throughout her tale, but at this last admission, the 'mother' in my mother finally broke down and she flung her arms around this lovely, young, waif of a girl and sobbed aloud. They held each other tightly.
Mari had never admitted any of this to me, but then we hadn't reached that point in our relationship; I guessed that now we had.
Finally I turned her to me and wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Marianne," I said, pronouncing it in French, "J' vous aim, ton Cherie." I told her gazing into her wet eyes. She gave me a look that expressed being thrilled and distrustful all at once. I just held her gaze, which softened the distrust part and she fell into my arms. I held her for a long moment. "You are such a wonderful girl." I told her. My Mom echoed the sentiment, rubbing her back.
My mother shifted from rubbing her back to lightly scratching her back. Mari moaned at how good it felt. Mom adjusted her position to be facing her more straight on, which made her face me more straight on as well. Now I was afforded a beautiful view down her shirt; my shirt actually. When Mom reached down to work her hands under Mari's shirt to scratch her bare skin, Mari moaned louder and moved a bit so that Mom could pull her shirt up a bit more.
